


Alcohol - friend or foe?

by BurntWhisky1



Series: Tempted [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Attraction, Codependency, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntWhisky1/pseuds/BurntWhisky1
Summary: Dean is drunk, very, very drunk.





	Alcohol - friend or foe?

Dean is drunk.   Not quite ‘falling off the barstool’ kind of drunk, but definitely more inebriated than usual.

Sam blames their latest hunt. It didn’t go wrong, not exactly, but it didn’t end as well as it might, and that always gets to Dean. Some of his biggest alcoholic blowouts have been hung on the back of a bad hunt.

Sam hasn’t looked up in a while from a novel he’s been trying to read for a few days now, in and out of the normal day to day business of being a Winchester and a hunter. He doesn’t need to look up because he can hear Dean, and Dean is clearly having a good time.

Finally Sam’s glass is empty, so he glances up to see if he can catch the eye of the girl circulating with trays of drinks. He can’t, not right now, mainly because the first thing he sees is Dean.

His brother is draped casually on his bar stool and he is using his intense green eyes and his cheeky grin to full effect. He’s undoubtedly aware that the barmaid thinks he is beautiful and that knowledge makes him glow. He may or may not be aware that the guy sitting spell-bound on his right-hand side also thinks he’s beautiful, and he definitely isn’t aware that Sam has abandoned his book and is staring and wishing so very much that he didn’t think Dean was beautiful. Because Dean is his brother and that’s all kinds of wrong.

A tiny voice in the back of Sam’s head points out to him that their lives are entirely wrong, so what’s the difference? Sam squashes it immediately. That way lies danger.

An hour or so later Dean, still beautiful, is clearly not going to make it to the end of the barmaid’s shift. This is another clear indication to Sam that his brother is drinking because of the hunt, not because he came out to have a good time.

Dean pushes his last full shot-glass of whiskey away, swallows, grins at the barmaid and looks over his shoulder for Sam. Sam is already on his feet because the guy next to Dean looks as though he’s about to offer assistance and there is no way, just no way, Dean will be allowed to accept assistance from another man. He wouldn’t accept assistance from a stranger anyway, because he’s Dean, but even so…

Sam places a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder and clears the tab, throwing down a tip with a nod of thanks.

“C’mon bro,” he says, just to make the situation clear. “Early start in the morning.”

Dean slides off the stool and sways, grasping at Sam’s shirt and muttering something about the floor being all “slopey”. Sam rolls his eyes at the onlookers, hooks one of Dean’s arms around his neck and slides his arm around his waist, taking a firm hold of a belt loop under the cover of Dean’s jacket. "Home," he says firmly, although of course home tonight is only a motel room.

It’s late and the parking lot is empty of people although there are a fair few vehicles parked up for the night, condensation already blooming on their cold metal surfaces and the lights of the bar reflecting from their windshields. Sam thinks it’s pretty, a bit like Christmas when he was with Jess. Perhaps these are Winchester fairy lights…bar signs reflected in windshields? He snorts at his own musings and tucks the warmth of Dean safely against his side as he steers him in the direction of the Impala.

Dean’s legs are no longer co-operating and so Sam props him against the Impala and secures him with his hip while he fishes in his pocket for the keys. Dean gazes at him with the unblinking gaze of the truly drunk and says “Sammy” in a soft tone that makes Sam’s stomach twist and distracts him enough that he drops the keys onto the floor and has to reach down for them. Of course Dean chooses this moment of insecure grip to begin a slow slide down the side of the Impala.

“Steady!” Sam lurches back upright, takes hold of Dean under the armpits and props him up against the back door with his own weight, thrusting a thigh between his brother’s legs to stop him falling.

The second he does it he knows it’s a mistake, because Dean is grinning goofily at him from a couple of inches away while his crotch slides slowly down Sam’s upper thigh. The twist in Sam’s stomach turns into a knot and he’s suddenly very aware that they are chest to chest and he can feel his brother, all of him, through the material of their jeans.

Sam can’t move, daren’t move, daren’t breath.

His hands, still one either side of his brother’s torso, can feel the warmth and life of the body beneath them. He wants, needs, to be closer and before he can think about what he’s doing he slides one hand under the jacket and over-shirt and spreads his fingers over Dean’s chest, feels the ripple of ribcage and muscle and hard nipple through the t-shirt, instinctively leaning in closer so that his hand is trapped between them.

“Dean,” he says, breathless, pulse racing, because like this Dean is far, far too close and Sam can see the fullness of his lips and the way they are parted, just a little.

His brother is crushed against the door and wriggles; it makes his crotch push and grind against Sam’s thigh and Sam is suddenly, achingly hard. The hand still on top of the jacket drops and fastens on Dean’s firm buttock, kneads it, pulls him up a little and in close, hard, so that Dean’s dick, trapped behind zip and pants, slides against his own.

Dean’s mouth opens a little more and his eyes are unfocussed and he’s still very, very beautiful and so Sam kisses him, just once, a firm press against warm, dry lips.

Then the passenger door is open and he thrusts Dean down into the seat as though to touch him is to be burned with the fire of the sun. He slams the door and leaves Dean staring vacantly through the windshield and gives thanks that his brother is very, very drunk and may not remember what happened or that Sam will drive back to the motel with a very distinct swelling in the front of his pants.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
